


To Great Lengths

by allonsytotumblr



Series: Violently Feminist Interpretations of Tolkien's Women [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Escape, Feminist Themes, Hair Braiding, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytotumblr/pseuds/allonsytotumblr
Summary: "There is no need to look for spells in tombs of magic. All the enchantment is within her, as the magic she inherited from her Maia mother is not in words, and ingredients, but in blood- the fey blood that runs in the veins under her pale skin."Lúthien escapes her tower.





	To Great Lengths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



Compared to all the deeds mentioned in the Lay of Leithian, Lúthien’s escape from her imprisonment in her tower does not seem to be a very great one. Her hair is magic, she fashions a rope and a cloak out of it, goes off to rescue her lover, and that is it. Her labor for love and and her suffering comes after, it is not so?

Not so.

From the moment her father orders Lúthien locked up, all her energy is put towards how she may escape.

Time is different for her as an elf. The days fly by to one who will never experience an end to them- but as she searches her mind for ideas, it seems if she has been in this tower for all eternity. Every second that passes, Beren is out there alone, and yes he may strive to complete the task given him by Thingol because he loves her, but he is so mortal, so weak, and she must fly to him. She must get out.

The need for material is immediately apparent. What she has with her is insufficient: blankets and a few clothes. Neither are they long enough to reach the ground, nor strong enough for her to want try either. Lúthien needs something to get her down to the ground, and something to hide her from all eyes while she climbs and after, as she flees.

But her hair is here with her, and Lúthien knows what can be done with magic, and with the iron fisted determination that she possesses.

Her father will only let her have small things while in the tower, and thus her escape is aided by minuscule requests: little shears, a hand loom, a spool of thread, a needle. These are women’s things, thus they are not dangerous, and they are readily given to her. It is understandable that she wants to weave and to sew, to pass the time.

There is no need to look for spells in tombs of magic. All the enchantment is within her, as the magic she inherited from her Maia mother is not in words, and ingredients, but in blood- the fey blood that runs in the veins under her pale skin.

Lúthien sits in the center on her little tower room, puts her hands to her dark hair, and says: _lengthen._

And it does.

She feels the energy going out of her, as the coils of black grow longer around her. It is hard to judge exactly how much she will need: enough for a hooded cloak that reaches all the way to the ground, and enough left over to be braided into a strong rope, that she can climb down. She will need to weave the strands thickly together on the loom, to make the fabric for the cloak, so they will become stronger that thousands of individual hairs apart.

Lúthien strokes the hair as it flows down the sides of her face, and she puts into it strength, for it will have to bear her weight without tearing, and she imbues it with shadows, to protect her from unwelcome eyes, and she sings sleep into the strands, to disarm an enemy. And she does all of these magics while thinking of Beren, and her love for him, for what she feels for this man is as strong as any of the enchantments it is in her power to put forth.

  
This continues until she passes into sleep, and wakes the next morning surrounded on all sides by clouds of black.

And she labors. No retelling of the story mentions how hard it is to cut off the hair with her tiny pair of shears, nor how it tangles and slides apart, or how she cannot produce large amounts of fabric at once, as her loom is tiny. And the songs leave out how her pretty hands blister as she slides the shuttle back and forth, again and again, her vision blurring, and her mind disassociating from the present. Lúthien toils, resting only when she is so tired that she fears her exhaustion will cause her to make some grievous mistake in the task.

It is nothing to cut her hair off. It means nothing to her, when Beren has gone to his death. She would have torn off her own skin if it meant saving him. Hair is lifeless, and if it is shorter- the ends uneven from her blind shearing- Lúthien cares not.

The rope is easier to make than the cloak. Only a simple braid, nothing complicated, so long that is stretches across her room, and back and back and back, and back again. She will leave it behind after departing the tower. Her father will see the material it is made from, and her mother will see the spells bound up in the strands. There will be anger and sorrow, and perhaps seekers after her, but this is not on her mind as her hands stretch the hair over and over and over itself.

When they are both done, bound with magic and stitches, and the strength of her love for a second born, she sleeps as one dead. Upon waking at nightfall, she shrouds herself in the cloak of her hair, and descends the rope past the guards, cast into sleep.

So aided by the fruits of her labors, she vanishes out of Doriath.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The image is me cosplaying as Lúthien, yeet.
> 
> I hope you like it, and Happy Purim! The title is a pun,(did you get it??) because she goes to great LENGTHS to rescue Beren but also her hair is long, and ALSO her hair helps her to rescue Beren, hahahaha.


End file.
